bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.
I confuse people. i have a happy personality and a sad soul. i'm bold but shy. i love deeply but sometimes i feel heartless. i'm healing and hurting at the same time. i'm dedicated to growth, but i self sabotage
a/n: eeee haha, back at it again with another chapter :))! This will be a lot lighter than the last chapter, more slice-of-life fluff. Side note: I am really scared of spiders, and I somewhat do react like this (you'll see later in the chapter lol). Also, just noticed that most of my comments haven't been going to the commentators. I'm so sorry, I swear I've been replying to you. @flowers84 @keintarou @freshtalemiracle :)
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: None 😌
Ch.1
Chapter 4: Stay/It's Not Funny
Stay:
The library felt different at night. Quieter. Softer. Like the world had exhaled.
You usually didn't stay this late. Your brain gets fuzzy after a certain hour. But you had a deadline, and Tiffany had already gone back to her dorm. Gojo stayed. He didn’t announce it. He just… didn’t leave.
”You’re yawning every thirty seconds,” he observed, flipping a page in his notebook without looking up. ”I’m not," you muttered, squinting at your screen. ”You just did it again.” You covered your mouth defensively, blinking hard, ”I’m fine.”
Gojo finally looked up at you, resting his pen against his cheek, ”You’re 5’1” and stubborn. Dangerous combination.” You glared weakly across the table, ”I’m not fragile.” His eyebrow lifted slightly, ”I didn’t say fragile.”
”You implied it.”
He leaned back slowly in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall loosely behind his neck, “I implied short.” You huffed. He smirked. The teasing was softer tonight. Less sharp. Less performative.
You didn't notice how tired you looked. He did. You weren’t smiling as much. Not the automatic one. Not the social one. Just… quiet.
Your hoodie sleeves were pulled over your hands again. You kept staring at the same page without turning it. “You didn’t laugh at my joke earlier,” he said casually, tapping his pen lightly against the table. You blinked up at him slowly, “What joke?”
“Exactly.”
You frowned faintly. “Sorry.”
He stilled at that. His pen stopped tapping, “You don’t have to apologize for being tired.”
“I’m not tired,” you said, eyes dropping back to the page.
“You’re exhausted.”
You opened your mouth to argue— and then you yawned again. He leaned back slightly, looking entirely too pleased. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile. That’s what he wanted. He leaned forward suddenly, forearms resting on the table, “Okay.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Okay, what?” He reached across the table and gently tapped your notebook closed with two fingers, “Break.” “I can’t,” you said immediately, reaching for it.
“You can.”
“I have to finish this.”
“You’re rereading the same paragraph.”
You froze. He caught you. Again. You hated feeling seen when you weren’t prepared. “I’m fine,” you said quietly, eyes lowering. He studied your face. Not amused now. Just watching. You weren’t fine. But you weren’t ready to say why either. He didn’t push. Instead, he grabbed your pen. You blinked, “Hey—”
And before you could react, he started doodling on the corner of your notebook, his head tilted slightly as he concentrated.
You leaned over instinctively, “What are you doing?”
“Improving your notes.”
You tried to grab it back, reaching across the table. He lifted the notebook just out of reach, holding it between two fingers above your head.
“You’re so annoying.”
“I’ve been told,” he replied easily.
You lunged slightly, stretching up. He lifted it higher. Which was unfair because he was taller. You huffed, dropping back into your chair, “Give it back.” He tilted his head down at you, eyes glinting slightly, “Say please.”
“Gojo.”
“Close.”
You stared at him. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make you squirm, then lowered the notebook slowly. Close enough for you to reach. When you grabbed it, your fingers brushed against his. Warm. You froze. Gojo didn’t move either. For a second, the library felt too quiet. Too small. You pulled your hand back quickly. He leaned back like nothing happened.
You opened the notebook. He had drawn a tiny cartoon version of you. Big hoodie. Small frame. Messy hair. And above it, in neat handwriting: "Just be free." Your breath caught, “You’re weird,” you whispered, staring at it. He leaned back in his chair again, crossing one ankle over his knee, “And you’re tired.” You didn’t deny it this time. The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just… still.
Your head felt heavy. You blinked slower. He noticed, “Lie down,” he said lightly, tilting his head toward the table.
“In the library?”
“On the table.”
“That’s gross," you gave a disgusting look.
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Gojo shrugged off his jacket and tossed it toward you. It landed softly against your notebook, “Pillow.”
You stared at it, “I’m not sleeping.”
“You’re absolutely sleeping.”
“I’m not.” You blinked. Your eyes closed for a second too long. He watched. Then you leaned forward slightly, and your forehead rested against your folded arms. Just for a second. Just to rest your eyes.
You didn’t mean to. You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But you did.
----------
Gojo's POV:
Gojo went quiet. Completely.
He looked at you like he’d just been handed something fragile.
Your breathing evened out. Your shoulders relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. No tension. No shrinking. No forcing a smile. Just… you.
He shifted closer slowly. Carefully. Like you might wake up.
A strand of hair had fallen across your face. He hesitated. Then gently brushed it back. His fingers barely touched your skin.
You stirred slightly. He froze. You didn’t wake. He exhaled softly.
”You don’t have to try so hard,” he murmured under his breath.
He didn’t even know if he meant to say it out loud. But it felt true.
He draped his jacket more securely under your head. Adjusted it so you’d be comfortable. Then sat beside you. Guarding. Watching. Not because you need protection.
Because he wanted to stay.
----------
When you woke up, you jolted upright, “Oh my god— I’m so sorry—”
Gojo didn’t look up from his phone, “You drool.” You gasped, sitting straighter, “I do not!” He glanced up finally, grin slow and lazy, “Relax. You didn’t.” You narrowed your eyes at him. He laughed softly. You looked down and noticed his jacket under your head. Your chest tightened, “You stayed?” He shrugged lightly, sliding his phone into his pocket, “Obviously.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know," he said it without looking away from you this time.
You didn’t know what to do with that. The room felt smaller somehow. You tugged at your sleeves again. He reached forward lightly and tugged one down. Not forcefully. Just gently. “Hands,” he said quietly. You blinked at him. He held your gaze, not smiling now, “You hide when you’re overwhelmed.” Your throat tightened. You looked away, “I’m not overwhelmed.”
“You’re quieter when you’re thinking too much,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have to be the happy one all the time,” he added. Soft. Not teasing. You swallowed. “I’m fine.” He studied you for a second longer than usual. “Okay,” he said simply.
And somehow that felt worse. Because he wasn’t dismissing it.
He was just… waiting.
------------
When you packed up to leave, it was colder outside. You walked beside him, your steps small. He slowed his stride automatically. The campus was quiet. Streelights glowing softly against the pavement. Your arms wrapped loosely around yourself. He glanced down at you, "You're walking like you just ran a marathon." You blinked at him, mildly offended, "I was studying."
"That's worse."
You shot him a look, "It was one assignment."
"You were staring at one paragraph for twenty minutes."
You stiffened slightly, "I was thinking."
"You were buffering." You nudged his arm lightly, "I hate you." He didn't react immediately; he just let the corner of his mouth lift slightly, "No, you don't." You tried not to smile. He noticed. He looked down at you again, hands still in his pockets, "Next time," he added casually, "I'm bringing snacks and a blanket." You blinked, "...why?"
"So you don't pass out dramatically in public."
"That was not dramatic."
"You folded like a lawn chair." You gasped softly, turning toward him, "I did not." He demonstrated slightly, shoulders slumping dramatically for half a second, "You did." You shook your head, but you were smiling now. And he saw it, his gaze lingered a second longer than usual, "That's better," he said quietly. You glanced at him, "What is?"
"You're not overthinking right now." You looked away quickly, "Don't ruin it." He smirked faintly, "Impossible."
You reached your dorm building and hesitated.
“Thanks,” you said quietly, shifting your weight, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeves. “For what?” he asked, watching your face carefully.
“For staying.”
He shrugged lightly, hands in his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels, “I like being around you.” Your heart stuttered. He said it like it was simple. Like it wasn’t heavy. “You’re just being nice,” you murmured, eyes dropping again.
His expression shifted slightly. Not annoyed. Not playful. Just steady, “I don’t do things just to be nice.” You looked up at him, tilting your head back. He stepped slightly closer. Close enough that you felt the warmth from him, “You really think I’d stay up until 2 a.m. for someone I don’t care about?”
Your breath caught. He didn’t let you answer, then stepped back deliberately, “Go inside,” he said gently. You nodded and turned.
But your heart didn’t feel small tonight. It felt… held.
-------------
It's Not Funny:
A few days after the library.
It was 9:47 pm. You were alone in your dorm room. Tiffany and your friends had gone home for the weekend.
You were brushing your teeth. Half-awake. Scrolling through your phone. And then— you saw it. On the wall. Near your bed. Big. Not tiny. Not harmless-looking.
Big. Your body froze instantly. Toothbrush still in your mouth. Foam gathering at the corner of your lips. Your brain shut down. Then rebooted into full panic mode. You spat toothpaste somewhere near the sink without even aiming.
”No.” You stepped backward slowly, one hand hovering defensively in front of you. ”No. No. No.”
It moved. You gasped like you’d witnessed a murder, ”Nope. Absolutely not.”
You grabbed the nearest shoe from the floor. And then missed by three feet because your hands were shaking.
It moved again. You shrieked. Not dignified. Not cute. Full horror movie scream.
You scrambled backward. Almost tripped on your rug. You stared at it like it personally betrayed you, ”I live here,” you whispered angrily, voice trembling, “Not you.”
Your phone was still in your hand. You didn’t even think. You hit his contact. It rang once. Twice. He answered immediately, ”What happened?” Not hello. Not teasing. Immediate alert.
”There’s a spider,” you whispered frantically, pressing yourself against the opposite wall like distance alone could save you.
Silence. Then— “…You called me for a spider?”
You stared at it, eyes wide, ”It's huge.”
”How huge.”
“Emotionally large.”
He huffed a laugh through the phone. You gasped, ”It’s not funny!”
”It is a little funny.”
”It moved!” you hissed, voice climbing an octave.
”Spiders do that.”
”I’m going to die.”
”You’re not going to die.”
”You don’t know that.”
He sighed dramatically. “Open the door.”
You blinked. “What?”
”Open. The. Door.”
You turned slowly. “…You’re not here.”
”Look through the peephole.”
You walked cautiously to the door like the spider might teleport. You leaned forward and looked. He was there. Hands in pockets. Calm. Like this was a casual visit. You yanked the door open. “You ran here?!” He stepped inside casually, ”It sounded like you were being hunted.”
You grabbed his sleeve, pulled him in further, and stepped aside immediately. “It’s over there.” You pointed dramatically toward the wall. Then immediately retreated to the opposite corner of the room.
He looked at the wall. Looked at the spider. Then slowly turned his head to look at you, ”That’s what tried to take you out?”
You clutched your chest, "Don’t minimize my trauma.” He snorted softly.
You gasped when the spider moved again. You darted across the room, directly into him. You grabbed his hoodie without thinking. Clutched it tightly. Pressed yourself against him. Your brain didn’t process it until three seconds later. You froze. He went very still. You were holding onto him like he was a life raft.
He looked down slowly at your hands gripping his hoodie. “…You done?”
You tried to pull away immediately. But the spider moved again. You gasped and grabbed him again. He laughed. Actually laughed. Not a teasing you laugh. Genuinely amused.
”You are not allowed to laugh.”
He lifted one eyebrow, ”You're hiding behind me.”
”I am not.”
”You are.”
”I’m strategically positioned.”
”Sure.” He carefully disentangled one hand from your grip and grabbed a tissue. You clung to his sleeve with your other hand, ”This is humiliating.” He glanced down at you briefly, ” I think it's cute.”
”Don’t say that.”
”Why not?”
”Because this is not cute.”
He moved closer to the wall. You followed without realizing. Still attached. You didn't even realize you were pressed against his side. He took care of it quickly. You squeezed your eyes shut when he moved. ”It’s gone,” he said casually, tossing the tissue away. You peeked through one eye. “…Actually?”
”Yes.”
You slowly stepped back, hands dropping from his hoodie. Still embarrassed. Still flushed, ”You ran here,” you repeated softly. He shrugged. “You called," he said. “You didn’t even ask which building. Or if it was actually bad.”
”I know where you live.” Your heart skipped.
He looked around your room briefly, then back at you, “And you don’t panic over nothing.”
You blinked. “I literally panicked over a spider.”
”Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice slightly. “But your voice was different.” You froze. “What do you mean?”
”You don’t ask for help easily,” he said. And that landed. Because it was true. You looked down, “I didn’t think.” ”I’m glad you didn’t,” he replied softly. You swallowed, ”You didn't even hesitate,” you said quietly. He tilted his head slightly, “Why would I?” He replied.
”Because it was dumb.”
He stepped closer. Not intimidating. Just present, ”If you’re scared, it's not dumb.”
Your heart did that painful flutter again. Silence stretched between you. Then he said it. Soft. Almost confused, ”You think I wouldn’t show up for you?” It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t offensive. It was genuine. Like the idea didn’t even make sense to him.
Your brain scrambled and shifted your weight nervously, ”I don’t know,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. The honesty surprised both of you. He studied your face more closely now.”You really don't know?” He asked. You shrugged faintly. “I don’t… want to assume.”
”Assume what?”
You looked at the floor. ”That I matter like that.” There it was. Small. Barely above a whisper. But heavy. He went very still. Not joking. Not smirking. Not dramatic. Just… serious, ”You don’t lean on people unless you feel safe.” Your throat tightened, ”I didn’t want to bother you,” you said softly. That did it. That was the line that shifted him. His jaw flexed slightly. “You could never bother me,” he said firmly. You blinked. ”I’m serious.”
Your heart slammed. You crossed your arms awkwardly, ”I did kind of overreact.”
”You did.”
You glared at him.
”But,” he added smoothly, “I don’t mind.”
Silence. You looked down, ”I hate that you saw me like that.”
”Like what?”
”Freaking out.”
He tilted his head, ”You think I don't like seeing the real you?”
”You’re supposed to see the cool, calm, collected version.”
”I don't want the cool version.” Your chest felt tight again.
”I want this one,” He stepped closer. Not teasing. Not playful. ”You’re still shaking,” he observed.
”I’m not.”
”You are,” He gently took your hand. Just briefly. To prove it. Your fingers were trembling. He looked at them. Then at you. And something softened in his expression. Soft. Protective. Relieved, ”You’re safe,” he said quietly. It wasn’t about the spider. You both knew that. You nodded slowly. He released your hand.
Then smirked again. “Next time, though, maybe text first.” You shoved him lightly, ”I hate you.”
”You don’t.” He walked toward the door.
”Gojo?”
He paused, hand on the doorknob.
”Thanks.”
He looked over his shoulder. You looked smaller again. But not shrinking. Just softer, ”Call me again if something scares you,” he said. Your heart skipped, “Even if it's dumb?”
”Especially if it's dumb.”
And when he left, your room didn’t feel as big. Or as lonely.
a/n: helloo everyone :), I hope I'm not pacing this too fast, but let me know what you guys think about this chapter. I understand that my writing structure is a little different. This took me a while to figure out how this story will go, but I hope you guys like it! @flowers84 😊
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: Slight angst, slight bullying.
Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.4
Chapter 3: Why you?/Not My Type?
Gojo’s POV:
The shift didn’t happen overnight. It was small. Subtle.
But Gojo noticed it immediately.
You stopped sitting quite as close. You laughed, but softer. You answered him in shorter sentences again. You didn’t look up as much.
He didn’t know why. But he didn’t like it.
----------
It started in the girls’ bathroom.
You hated going in alone. But Tiffany and your other friends were in their classes, and you really needed a minute.
You had been trying on a different top earlier. You didn’t hate it. But you didn’t love it either. You were still staring at yourself in the mirror when the door swung open.
Three girls walked in. You recognized them. The kind who always looked put together. The kind who were effortlessly pretty. The kind that guys would chase after.
They saw you. They whispered. One of them smirked. You tried to ignore it. You washed your hands. Dried them slowly. You just needed to leave. But as you turned— They stepped in front of the exit. Your stomach dropped.
”Hey,” one of them said sweetly. Too sweet. ”You’re the girl Gojo’s always with, right?” You started to get even more nervous. You nodded slightly, “Sometimes.” They exchanged looks, ”Why?” You blinked, ”Why what?”
”Why you?”
The words hit harder than they should have. You felt heat rush to your face, ”I don’t know,” you said honestly. One of them scoffed, ”You don’t know?” You looked down, ”I don’t.” ”Are you blackmailing him or something?” They laughed. Your fingers curled into your sleeves, “I’m not.” Another girl stepped closer, ”He’s never around girls like you.” Your heart thudded painfully, ”Girls like me?” She looked you up and down, ”Be serious.” The silence that followed was heavy. You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You just shrank.
Because the worst part? A tiny part of you believed them.
”I don’t know why he talks to me,” you repeated softly. That only seemed to irritate them more. ”You better not think you’re special,” one snapped. “If you get in the way, we’ll make you regret it.” Your chest tightened. You force a smile. Because that's what you did, ”I don’t think I’m special.” They glared at you. You stepped around them. You left. You didn’t run. But you wanted to.
---------
After that, you pulled back.
You didn’t sit as close. You don’t respond to messages as fast. You didn’t stay after study sessions. You told yourself it was for the best. Because if they were right… it would hurt less if you didn’t get attached.
Gojo felt it immediately. ”You’re avoiding me,” he said one afternoon.
You shook your head, ”I’m not.”
”You are.”
You smiled, ”I’ve just been busy.”
Gojo stared at you. You weren't bad at lying. But you weren’t good at it either.
----------
You weren’t even planning to go. That was the truth. Parties weren’t your thing unless you were glued to Tiffany or Sam the entire time.
But Gojo had mentioned it casually, “You’re coming, right?” Like it was obvious. So you said yes.
—--------
You were in your dorm room with the door opened waiting for any of your friends to come by. You were sitting on the edge of your bed. Dress laid out in front of you. You weren’t sure if you liked it. You weren’t sure if you hated it. You were just… staring at it. That’s when you heard your name, and you looked up.
The three girls from the bathroom were standing in the doorway. You forgot that they stayed on the same floor as you. They didn’t barge in; they hovered. One of them gave a tight smile, “You’re going tonight, right?” You nodded, “Yeah.” Her eyes dropped to the dress. Then slowly back up to you, “Oh.” You swallowed, “What?”
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
You forced a small shrug, “Yeah.”
“Cute.” She said in a clipped tone.
Another girl stepped forward slightly, “That’s… fitted.” There it was. Subtle. Polished. Sharp. You glanced down at it, “It’s not that tight.” She tilted her head, “I didn’t say tight. Just fitted.” Your stomach dropped slightly. One of them let out a small laugh, “Parties can be brutal, you know.” You didn’t say anything. Because you didn’t know what to say. Another voice, quieter this time: “Guys notice everything.” Your chest tightened. You nodded faintly, “I know.”
They looked at each other. Then one leaned casually against the doorframe, “I just wouldn’t want you to feel… uncomfortable.” The word hung there. Uncomfortable. Like it was inevitable, “I’ll be fine.”
She shrugged, “I mean… if you’re confident, then that’s good.” The pause before “confident” wasn’t accidental. Then she added lightly: “I just think sometimes people mistake attention for… something else.”
Your throat went dry, “What does that mean?” She smiled again, innocently, “Nothing.” Silence stretched. Then the final hit: “He’s used to a certain type.”
There it was. Not loud. Not explicit. But clear. You felt heat rise in your face. You didn’t argue. You didn’t defend yourself. You just nodded once, “Okay.”
They left. And the room felt smaller after they did. You looked at the dress again. Suddenly, it felt tighter. More obvious. Too noticeable. You smoothed it down over your hips. Adjusted it. Turned to the side. Pulled it down again.
Your brain whispered: Maybe they’re right.
—--------
The party was the breaking point. You almost texted Tiffany that you weren’t going. Then your phone buzzed.
Gojo: you better not bail.
Your heart did that thing again.
You: i’m not.
But when you walked in later? You weren’t just nervous. You were bracing.
You wore something you didn’t feel fully confident in. You kept adjusting it. It felt tighter now. More obvious. You barely did any makeup. You already felt like you didn’t belong.
You stayed near Sam at first, pretending not to look for him. And then you saw him. Across the room. Laughing with some friends. And he saw you at the exact same time. His expression changed instantly. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… stunned. Which made it worse. Because now you were hyper-aware: Fitted. He’s used to a certain type.
He walked over without hesitation. “You came,” he said — like it mattered. “My friends made me,” you answered, eyes flicking down. He looked at you slowly. Appreciative, “You look really good.” Your chest tightened, “Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re just being nice,” you whispered.
His jaw shifted slightly, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
You looked away. Because believing him felt dangerous. Your fingers moved again, smoothing the hem. He noticed immediately, “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“You keep adjusting it.”
Your stomach dropped, “Ah—it’s fine,” you said too quickly. He stepped closer, lowering his voice, “You don’t need to.”
And you almost believed him.
That’s when one of the girls approached. Confident. Glossy. Intentional. She slid into his space like you weren’t there. Hand landing lightly on his arm, “Gojo,” she purred. You instinctively stepped back. Shrinking. He noticed. Immediately. He removed her hand calmly, “Busy.” Short. Flat. She laughed lightly, “You’ve been hard to catch lately.” He didn’t smile back, “Not interested.” Cold. Clear. No performance. She tried to linger anyway, “Maybe later we can—”
“No.” One word. Final. His hand slid to your waist. Not dramatic. Not possessive. Grounded, “I’m good,” he added. You heart raced a little from his sudden touch. She glanced at you — quick up-and-down, then walked away. Your chest felt tight, “You didn’t have to—”
“I did.”
“I don’t want to make things weird.”
He looked at you carefully, “You didn’t. They did.”
You glance toward the group of girls across the room. They’re watching again. Whispering. Gojo followed your line of sight. That’s when he saw them. And everything clicked. The distance. The shorter replies. The avoiding. And something in him shifts. Not angry, not explosive. Just protective.
------------
You stepped away later to grab water. Alone for maybe ten seconds. That’s all it took. One of the girls from the bathroom slid up beside you, “You clean up well.” You blinked. “Thanks.”
“Bold choice though.”
Your stomach twisted.
“Are you comfortable?”
You forced a smile, “Yeah.”
“You don’t look it.”
Before you could respond, a shadow fell beside you. He didn’t rush. He didn’t storm. He just stood next to you. Close enough that your shoulders brushed, “Problem?” he asked calmly. The girl went quiet. Because this wasn’t teasing Gojo anymore. This was steady. Unamused.
“You’re good?” he asks quietly to you. You look up. Relieved, “Yeah.” Gojo doesn’t look at you first. He looks at her. Not aggressive. Just steady. She smiles, “Oh, I was just complimenting her.” Gojo nods once, “Cool.” His hand brushes against your lower back. Light pressure, “Come on.” You don’t argue. You just go. And when you’re back in the crowd, he leans down slightly. “They’re trying.” You blink, “What?”
“To get in your head.”
You swallow, “They’re succeeding.”
—----------
Gojo led you out of the party, and the music felt distant now. He looked down at you, “You want to tell me what that was?” His voice wasn’t loud. It was level. You looked down, “It’s nothing.” His jaw shifted slightly. He stepped half a step closer, “It’s not.” You hated when he could hear things in your voice before you did. “They just asked why you hang out with me.” You shrugged like it didn’t matter. He didn’t react immediately, “And?” You swallowed, “They were right.” You let out a small, humorless breath. “They said you don’t hang around girls like me.” Gojo’s voice lowered, “And what does that mean?”
You tried to laugh, “It’s fine. I get it.”
“You get what?”
Your fingers moved to your dress again. Smoothing it. You didn’t even realize you were doing it, “That I’m not—” You stopped. But he heard it. His eyes dropped to your hands. Then slowly lifted back to your face, “You think that’s what this is?” he asked quietly. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He reached out. Not grabbing. Just gently catching your wrist before your fingers could adjust the hem again, “Stop.” Not sharp. Soft. Firm, “You keep trying to disappear.” Your throat tightened, “I’m not.”
“You are,” he let go of your wrist slowly. Not to control. Just to make you aware of it. He stepped closer. Not crowding. Just intentional, “I choose who I’m around.” Your eyes stung. “You think I don’t know when people are being mean?” You didn’t answer. “You think I’d let someone disrespect you?” You didn’t know. He exhaled slowly, “You’ve been pulling away because of them.” It wasn’t a question. “You really don’t see it,” he murmured. You finally looked up at him. “See what?” His eyes softened, “Why I’m around you.”
Your chest felt tight. He stepped closer again. Close enough that you had to tilt your head up. He did something small then. Not dramatic. Just gently. He lifted his hand slowly. Brushed a curl that had fallen forward away from your face. His fingers were careful. Like you were glass. Soft. Careful. “You’re not lucky I’m here,” he said softly. His thumb hovered for half a second near your temple before dropping, “I’m lucky you let me be.”
You stared at him. You didn’t look away. You didn’t argue. You didn’t say he was just being nice.
You just stood there. Letting it land.
---------------
A few days after the party.
You weren’t supposed to meet his friends. That wasn’t the plan. You were walking with him after class when Gojo casually said, ”Wanna grab matcha?” You blinked. ”With you?” He looked offended. “No, with the invisible person next to me.” You rolled your eyes. “...Okay.”
You weren’t expecting a group. But when you got to the cafe patio, three people were already there. Two guys. One girl. They looked up immediately. Then at you. Then back at Gojo. The silence was loud. Gojo didn’t hesitate, ”This is her,” he said simply.
Her.
Not “this is my friend.” Not your name. Just— Her. Like they already knew. Your heart skipped.
One of the guys raised a brow slowly, ”You actually brought her?”
”Shut up,” Gojo replied casually, sliding into a chair and pulling one out beside him for you. You hesitated at first. Then sat. The girl across from you smiled warmly, ”I’m Shoko,” she said. “Don’t let him bully you.” ”I don’t,” you said softly. Gojo snorted. “You absolutely do.” You glanced at him. He leaned slightly closer, ”You just glare at me instead of arguing.” Your face warmed, ”I don’t glare.” ”You do,” he grinned. “It’s adorable.”
His friend Geto leaned back, watching the exchange carefully. Interesting. Very interesting. Because Gojo Satoru did not look at people like that. Not steady. Not intentional. And definitely not gentle.
---------
They started talking. Mostly teasing Gojo. Telling stories. You listened. Smiled. Answered when directly asked. You still felt small in the group. Still hyper-aware of yourself. But Gojo kept including you, ”Tell them what you said about that professor,” he nudged. You blinked, ”No.”
”Why not?”
”Because it was dumb.”
”It wasn’t dumb. It was funny.”
You shook your head. He sighed dramatically. Then, out of nowhere, he reached forward and lightly flicked your forehead. You gasped, ”What was that for?”
”For calling yourself dumb.”
You froze. His tone wasn’t joking. His friends noticed. He leaned back casually after, ”Negative self-talk is banned in my presence.” You stared at him.
Shoko smiled softly. Oh. She understood immediately.
------------
Later, while Geto and one of the others went inside to order refills, you got up to grab napkins. Gojo offered to go with you. Of course he would. But you kindly declined. When you were gone, one of his friends leaned toward him, ”So.” Gojo didn’t look up, ”So.”
”She’s not your type.”
There it was. Clear. Blunt.
Gojo went still for half a second. Then leaned back in his chair, ”What’s my type?” He asked lazily. His friend shrugged, “You know, confident. Loud. Flashy. The usual.” Gojo’s eyes flicked toward the cafe entrance, where you were trying to reach the napkin dispenser that was slightly too high. He watched you stretch. Struggled slightly. Then looked around to see if anyone noticed. He stood up immediately. Walked over. Grabbed the napkins without making a big deal of it and handed them to you casually. You smiled. “Thanks.” He shrugged, ”Short.” You shoved him lightly. He laughed.
Back at the table, his friend watched closely. Gojo sat down again. Then answered calmly. “Maybe my type changed.” His friend raised a brow. “You’re serious.” Gojo smirked. “I’m always serious.”
”Since when?”
Gojo glanced at you again. You were laughing softly at something Shoko said. Not loud. Not guarded. Just relaxed. ”Since her.”
The table went quiet. That wasn’t like him. He noticed. He didn’t care. His friend leaned back slowly. “You sure?” Gojo’s jaw flexed slightly, ”She’s not competing with anyone,” he said calmly. ”Good,” the friend replied. “Because people are going to talk.”
Gojo smiled, “Let them.”
-------------
Later that evening, after everyone left, Shoko nudged Geto, ”He’s different with her.”
Geto hummed, ”Terrifyingly different.”
Shoko smiled, ”She’s good for him.”
Meanwhile, you were walking beside Gojo again, ”You didn’t have to bring me,” you said quietly. “I wanted to," he says. ”You didn’t even introduce me properly," you said. He glanced at you, ”They already knew.” You gave him a confused look, ”Knew what?” ”About you," he said casually. ”How?” you looked at him, confused again. ”I talk about you.” Your heart slammed, ”You don’t.”
”I do.”
”What do you say?”
He smirked, ”That you’re short.” You glared. He grinned wider, ”And that you smile like you’re trying to save the world.” Your breath caught. He looked down at you, “And that you have no idea how much space you actually take up.” Your chest tightened again. He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours, ”You did good.”
”At what?”
”Existing.”
You blinked, ”That’s not hard.”
”It is for some people," his tone softened just barely.
stormborns
vaporwave
